Author's Note: Once more, I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to leave a review. Some of you have been hinting at wanting to see certain things (vagueness!), and perhaps a few of those things are soon in the making. *whistles*
Day Fifteen
The sunrise in Nasesh-Arem lit the valley a golden-red, warmth bouncing off the clay buildings to heat the streets below. A humble community, Ling guessed that it held no more than ten to twenty small families. He would also guess that each and every member of those families had turned out to the temple this morning, anxious to greet Lan Fan upon her return from the desert.
News traveled quickly in the small village – children proudly showing off their knowledge as adults eagerly gossiped with the same. All of the prayer cushions in the gathering hall had been taken, the room positively packed with excited chattering Ishvalans. On all accounts, the subject remained the same; Ling reclined against a pillar in the back, feigning exhaustion, and listened to the prattle surrounding him with an amused ear.
"I heard that she is a warrior of extreme kindness – "
" – journeyed all the way from Amestris to – "
" – might even have found six rabbits – "
" – that she sacrificed a great deal of her own food – "
" – can you believe it? Six rabbits!"
" – quite a beauty, at that, didn't you say – "
" – but I don't know, a young girl in the desert for eight hours? It doesn't seem – "
" – Priest Hamou wants to offer her a permanent post – "
" – six rabbits!"
Ling grinned and popped another sliver of melon into his mouth. His stomach promptly gobbled it up, and then growled, as if to say "yes, thanks. That was nice. Anything else?"
His kingdom for real food! Not to say that Ling did not appreciate Ishvalan food - but he had eaten nothing but Pirro's mash and the occasional slice of fruit for the past two days!
He longed for fish, gently broiled or cooked over a Xingese bonfire. All this fruit was lovely, sure, but meat…Ling had only been without for a little while. If he had already begun to miss it, he couldn't imagine how the villagers must have been feeling. Considering it that way, he could understand their eagerness as they awaited Lan Fan's arrival.
If he were to be completely honest with himself – which he almost always was – Ling also knew that he understood another, less economical, reason the Ishvalans were looking forward to seeing Lan Fan again. Well, perhaps not the entire village: just the men.
Despite his small eyes and carefree demeanor, Ling was neither blind nor stupid. A small village, with very few newcomers, must be very excited to have visitors. He had heard a few of the bolder women whisper to one another, throwing interested and not-so-subtle glances his way.
He had also heard, with less amusement, similar whispers coming from the men of Nasesh-Arem regarding his bodyguard. Apparently Lan Fan had created quite the stir, arriving in the middle of afternoon prayers, among the village's young bachelors.
Ling prided himself a (relatively) honest man – if not with others, then certainly with himself. He did not stumble hilariously as Edward Elric did around his feelings. For all his prodigious skills and maturity, Ed still could not even admit that his mechanic was an attractive woman without short-circuiting his brain. Ling found this extremely funny; it wasn't as if it meant anything, thinking that a person was physically appealing. Perhaps Ed's embarrassment was an Amestrian thing.
But Ling was honest, and quite frankly did not see any harm in acknowledging the fact that Lan Fan was a remarkably beautiful girl, even by Xing's standards. Here in Nasesh-Arem, where pale skin and dark hair stood out as foreign and exotic, it did not surprise Ling that Lan Fan had attracted so much attention from the opposite sex.
That did not mean, however, that he had to enjoy hearing the hopeful speculations of the gaggle of young men, all kneeling eagerly around the center platform.
Suddenly, as if moved by a cue Ling could not see, a reverent hush fell immediately over the noisy crowd. Echoes of their conversations floated high in the ceilings of the temple, almost as if there were spirits whispering unseen among the rafters as Hamou stepped onto the platform.
"Nice touch," Ling thought absently. "Arched ceilings give dramatic effect. I'll remember that."
The High Priest turned in one large circle, taking in all of the attentive faces of his congregation, before smiling broadly and raising his arms. Ling recognized him as the old man who had first welcomed him to Nasesh-Arem. Scratching at his chin (and wincing at the stubble he found there), he made a mental note to track the elder down sometime later, to discuss the conditions of their departure. Ling was a target, especially now that he carried a Philopher's Stone. Staying in one place for too long was dangerous, no matter how harmless the people appeared. As soon as Mei showed signs of improvement, their group needed to carry on.
"Brothers and sisters!" Hamou grinned widely, opening his arms. "This day is a cause for much celebration! The almighty Ishvala has heard our voices crying out in the desert, and has sent His gifts to His children!
"Long has Ishvala, in His great wisdom, seen cause to test us, His people. Our flocks have suffered, our cattle grown slim, and trade with our brothers in the West has weakened.
"We have hungered, we have toiled, and we have prayed," the Ishvalans nodded their heads, some ruefully, while others smiled with hands clasped in supplication. "And Ishvala is a merciful and kind master. He has heard our prayers, and has listened as in the days of the Old Scrolls. When the lost people of Tobit cried out for shelter in the wilderness, did Ishvala leave them without aid?
"No! He sent to them the holy angel Ushriel, to lead them to make their homes in this blessed valley."
Hearing the man talk, Ling suddenly understood why that Ishvalan - Scar - had been so driven in his cause. If Nasesh-Arem served as any kind of example, the Ishvalans obviously took their religion very, very seriously. If Scar had, for some psychotic reason, thought his god wanted all State Alchemists dead, then Scar was going to kill all of the State Alchemists. It was fascinating, really, the amount of devotion present in the room. Ling could feel the auras of the crowd swirling with steady and content pulses of adoration as the priest spoke.
"And when we, the humble descendants of those same people, cried out for an end to our fast, Ishvala granted us yet another great boon: one in the form of a humble outsider, a woman of kindness, generosity, and abounding self-sacrifice!" He spread his palms wide, and the villagers cheered happily.
"Oh now really," a tired voice spoke Xingese quietly into Ling's ear. "I almost wish I had not agreed to find food for them."
Ling smiled, not looking to where he knew Lan Fan knelt inconspicuously at his elbow. To look would be fruitless anyway – people simply did not see Lan Fan, if she did not wish to be seen. Mindful of her desire for discretion, Ling kept his gaze forward, reading her chi instead. There he found weariness, satisfaction, and no small amount of exasperation.
"You seem a bit distressed Lan Fan. Anything the matter?" He muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
"Of course not, sire. Only –" She sighed tiredly. "They are a very…gracious, people."
"And you dislike the attention."
"No. I do not dislike all attention, my Lord, only that which is unnecessary." She snorted softly, surprising Ling with the noise. Lan Fan rarely allowed herself the freedom to do things such as laugh, or snort. "And this attention is very unnecessary. It borders on ridiculous."
"Well, what did you expect?" Ling whispered beneath Hamou's loud, booming voice. "This is a small religious community. I doubt they get out much. And didn't you hear the priest? You're a seraph now," he teased. "They'll probably write you into their scriptures, Miss Angel-of-Meat."
"You jest, young master," Lan Fan reprimanded lightly. She paused, considering something, before adding with diffidence: "it may amuse you to know that I did overhear the High Priest speak to his acolytes about a canonization…"
Ling laughed under his breath, ignoring the strange looks from the nearby Ishvalans at the noise. As much as he disliked Lan Fan working herself so harshly, there was a silver lining. The more tired Lan Fan became, the more lax her hold on herself became as well. She did not often allow herself to express much humor. "Now you're messing with me," he grumbled. "Can you imagine it? 'Lan Fan – Holy Saint of Dried Meat and Carrion'!"
"More accurately, the saint of dried meat, carrion, and the protector of Emperor Ling Yao – the god of...what did Mei Chang say? The god Bad Jokes and Empty Bellies."
He chuckled again. She must be truly tired indeed, Ling thought, if she had lost the energy to resist joking with him! Of course, it would be nicer if his friend didn't have to be dead-on-her-feet in order to joke with him, but Ling would take whatever he could get.
"Speaking of empty bellies," he whispered. "Did you have a productive hunt?"
Suddenly and irrationally, Ling thought back to his childhood in his second aunt's house, and the evenings when his uncle would return from the fields exhausted and worn. Second aunt would smile and ask after his day, and Ling's uncle would respond in kind, a gentle hand on his wife's shoulder or knee.
Ling felt a bizarre reversal of roles, as if he were the one welcoming Lan Fan back from a hard day of work. Which, he told himself, was technically true and which, he told himself firmly, there was absolutely nothing wrong with. Kings were supposed to welcome home their vassals. It was polite.
Lan Fan did not respond, but he did hear a shifting of fabric before a sudden light warmth settled on his thigh. His heart stuttered, and Ling's eyes opened wide with surprise. With an imperceptible shake of his head, he took a moment to compose himself.
For a brief moment he had thought, crazily, that Lan Fan had laid her hand upon him – but when he looked down he saw only a small bundle of cloth resting innocently above his knee. His heart thudded in his chest – with relief, he supposed.
"Very productive, sire." Lan Fan spoke, ignorant of Ling's sudden anxiety. "However, I must take my leave now. My presence was requested, and it appears the High Priest is drawing his speech to a close."
"His sermon, more like," Ling said, trying for levity while breathing deeply through his nose. His heart, it seemed, could handle facing hoards of soldiers and an army of homunculi with barely a flinch. Ridiculously, the mere thought of Lan Fan's hand on his knee unsettled it far more effectively.
But it did make a sort of sense, he supposed. Such a thing as a servant taking liberties with her lord would be outrageously against tradition. Curiously enough, Ling did not think that his heart beat so quickly at the thought out of outrage.
"As you say, young prince," Lan Fan whispered, and Ling felt her aura fade away as she made her exit.
With extreme nonchalance, not to mention curiosity, Ling picked up the package Lan Fan had left him. Skilled fingers made quick work of the tight knots. The final tie gave, and several small dark things rolled into his lap. Ling blinked, let out a quiet bark of laughter, and did his very best to not look surprised at the generous pile of fresh jerky suddenly before him. Even with the attention of an entire village upon her, Lan Fan had kept him in high priority. As Hamou delivered a brief introduction, Ling leaned his head back against the pillar, tossed a handful of (glorious!) meat into his mouth, and settled in to watch the show.
"But do not take my word for it alone, brothers and sisters!" The priest was saying. "Miss Lan Fan has indeed returned, with a bounty sure to last us many weeks! Let us hear her tale, from her own lips!"
The crowd clapped encouragingly, most noticeably from that area of eager teenaged boys. A brave soul even ventured to let out a whistle as Lan Fan walked up before the platform. Several more took up the cheer, and soon she stood quite awkwardly as the villagers called out their thanks. Poor Lan Fan, Ling thought with a grin. He would enjoy teasing her about this for months!
She must have only just gotten back to the village an hour or so ago, her gi covered with dirt and twigs and spatters of something brown which looked like mud but that Ling knew to be old blood. Her roughshod appearance did not dampen the people's admiration – not even the fierce stare of the Yang mask seemed to temper their enthusiasm.
Hamou raised a heavily-wrinkled hand, and the crowd fell silent. Amusement bubbled up in Ling's chest, knowing that, behind her mask, Lan Fan surely had turned redder than a tomato. He pitied the Ishvalans, and how they were in for quite a surprise if they expected a grand speech from his most taciturn of vassals.
"Miss Lan Fan," Hamou said kindly. "Please tell us of your hunt. Were you successful in your endeavors?" But before she could even respond, the old man leaned close and whispered something into her ear.
A brief moment passed as the two spoke quietly to each other, Lan Fan making a sharp protesting motion with her hands. No, her body language said. I will not. But Hamou continued to smile, wheedle, and beg, and eventually Lan Fan's shoulders drooped. Aura flaring briefly with irritation, she reached up to both remove her mask and pull back her hood.
Perhaps Hamou thought that his people should see the face of their "savior". Ling sniggered. The face revealed behind the mask hardly belonged to a rapturous angel. With her topknot frizzed and tousled and her cheeks flushed with sunburn and embarrassment, Lan Fan scowled out over the heads of the appreciative Ishvalans. He almost laughed aloud when he saw her expression – screwed and soured as if she'd been forced to eat something unpleasant. It was true; Lan Fan did not like to remove her mask.
"The hunt went well. I returned without harm." Lan Fan's voice was flat and direct, like a soldier's reading a report. "I killed two coons, a pronghorn, three slings of rabbits, and a half-dozen field mice. There is a small waterhole four miles east where fowl may be hunted in due time as well."
When she did not elaborate, Hamou quickly took up the dialogue. "And the meat is being cooked and preserved now, as we speak. It will be ready for distribution after our morning prayers. We owe you a great deal, Miss Lan Fan!"
In Ling's opinion, the High Priest's laid-back and cheerful grin seemed a bit too theatrical. But Lan Fan's stony face softened in response, and she murmured something quietly to the old man. He nodded, clapping a hand to her shoulder jauntily and rubbing his neck in a sheepish motion, before motioning for one of his guards.
"And now we will commence with our morning worship, as Miss Lan Fan gets some well-deserved rest. We will have another chance to thank her for her selflessness once she has had a chance to recover. Talib, please escort Miss Lan Fan to our meditation room. She can rest there, for the time being."
A tall, strong-armed guard with choppy hair and flushed cheeks stepped forward, bowing lowly and gesturing for Lan Fan to follow him. Glancing in Ling's direction, she hesitated only for a moment before complying. A few of the Ishvalans waved to her cheerfully as she passed, and Lan Fan nodded politely at their attentions before exiting into a small side room.
Ling nodded to himself as well, gathering up the rest of his food and rolling to his feet. As interesting as the religion of Ishvala may be, he felt more than a little awkward intruding on its worship. Not to mention the heavy push of so many fervently praying chis had begun to press on his nerves, as well.
There was also the issue of his having left Mei, for a short while, with only the panda as a guard. He needed to return to the hospital to check up on her, before leaving again to collect Lan Fan. Quietly, he backed out of the large front doors as unobtrusively as possible.
Once free of the crowded temple, Ling took a deep breath and savored the open desert air. The stifling feeling of so many heavy presences being lifted, all at once, was no small relief. He exhaled gustily and turned on his heel, promptly running into the spectacularly beautiful Ishvalan woman behind him.
"Wah!" He startled, hand flying back instinctively to grab at the sabre that – wasn't? – strapped to his back. Clutching at nothing, Ling cursed, quickly covering his reach by sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.
"Ah ha ha…" he laughed awkwardly. "Wow. Sorry about that. I had no idea anybody was behind me. My bad."
The woman, for her part, appeared mortified. "Oh," she breathed huskily. "No. I'm sorry! I shouldn't have – well – it's only that I saw you leave. I wanted to – to speak with you." She blushed becomingly, tucking a tendril of dark brown hair back behind an ear. Head ducked artfully, her black eyes peeked up at him from beneath thick lashes. "My name is Sera."
"Oh," Ling said, smartly. He floundered for a moment before settling down with his tried-and-true fall back. Stretching a smile across his face, he cheerfully replied, "Very nice to meet you, Miss Sera! I'm Ling."
Fidgeting, Sera lifted one shoulder in a delicate show of unease. "I hope it's not too forward," she tried for a winsome smile. "But I, that is, my sister and I, well – we've just made lunch, and I know that Dr. Pirro's food can be very unappetizing. You've been so helpful to our village, and my sister and I wanted to thank you. Will you join us for lunch? She's making geng."
Ling's mouth watered at the thought of a bowl of hot, authentic Xingese soup. How long had it been since he'd eaten geng? Before even Amestris! Still – "Thanks, but I should get back to my friend. She's still sick, so."
"Oh, the little girl with the panda!" Sera sidled closer. "She's so darling! I paid her a visit before worshipping this morning. Dr. Pirro turned me away though – she's meant to be sleeping. Perhaps you could bring her some lunch as well? I live very close by."
A hunch suddenly niggled into Ling's mind. Truly, he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep himself – at least until he could track down Hamou to negotiate their, hopefully, imminent departure. He had no time to sit down and eat... a homemade Xingese meal... with two young, pretty girls…
Ling shook his head.
"Lead the way!" he chirped, offering up his arm. Sera's eyes shone, and she promptly steered him towards the lower levels of the village.
Having now gotten over her initial anxiety over approaching Ling, Sera proved to be a very talkative girl indeed. "You're from Xing, aren't you? That's so amazing – I've never met anybody from Xing before. I know nothing about it. Perhaps you could tell me?" Her fingers were strong on his wrist as she led him through the zigs and zags of the streets.
In the short time it took to reach her small, white-walled home, Sera had quizzed Ling over a vast array of subjects: where had he lived, exactly, in Xing ("Next to a very pretty, well-shaded meadow."); what on earth had he been doing all the way in Amestris ("We wanted to visit the ruins, and decided to go all the way to Amestris! It wasn't so far, why not?"); and the nature of his relationship with Lan Fan and Mei.
This topic seemed of particular interest. As they entered the small, but remarkably neat, cubicle of a home, Sera urged Ling to take a seat at a rickety wooden table. "So tell me more about this Mei girl," she prodded as he crossed his feet beneath him. "She is quite younger than you? An old friend, perhaps? Oh – Relena! We're home; he came!" she called happily.
"Oh good," a voice sighed very close by. Ling startled again, turning to see another woman kneeling by a battered and gently-steaming pot. "I don't know what we would have done with so much geng, without an extra mouth to help eat it all!" Brushing off her robes, she stood and turned to offer Ling her hand. "Thank you so much for helping our village. It's wonderful to meet you. My name is Relena."
Both sisters truly were strikingly pretty, slender and toned, with sharp dark eyes and carefully pinned-up brown hair. Ling sat, accepting a piping-hot bowl of soup with a wooden smile.
"I really didn't do much," he shrugged. "Poor Lan Fan did all the work, and I get all the food! Not that I'm complaining." Relena sat beside him, Sera across, and for a brief moment the room was silent. "I'll wait for you to get your food before I start!"
"Such chivalry!" Relena laughed, but she obligingly doled out a serving for herself and Sera. They both sat, hands folded into their sleeves, and waited for Ling to take the first bite.
The stew smelled fragrant, exactly how Ling like it, riddled with vegetables and the smallest bits of precious meat. Another hunch niggled at his brain, and this time he listened. Without a second thought, he lidded the bowl.
"I appreciate your kindness, but I just can't eat without knowing that my friend is doing alright. Maybe I could bring some to her, and then come back for a longer visit?"
The sisters both smiled. "Of course," Relena bowed her head. "But won't you take some tea first?"
"No, I couldn't…"
"I insist!" Sera pleaded, fisting her fingers into Ling's sleeve. "Please, at least let us give you cup of tea before you go! Our village is hardly doing anything for you three, and with two of you sick at that. It's against the ways of Ishvala!"
Ling hated to disappoint, especially in the likely case that his hunch was completely off the mark. Still, he had been raised to be careful. Sighing resignedly he hunkered back down to the table – and spoke a casual sentence of Xingese.
"Of course," Sera responded automatically, reaching for the pot of honey Ling had requested in his own language.
The room stilled.
"Idiot!" Relena groaned, slapping her forehead into her palm. Ling did not even see her fingers move as she plucked a needle from her hair, instinct moving him out of his chair before the senbon could imbed itself in his eye.
In a flash Sera had reached up and grabbed his collar, twisting him back down to the table. The weak boards cracked under his weight, and Ling crashed to the ground painfully. She jammed her forearm down across his throat, pinning him in place as Relena drew a kunai from her sleeves.
"You really should have just taken the tea, or the soup. It would have only stunned you. Now we have to kill you." She spoke casually, reaching among the remains of the table to press the tip of the blade against the hollow behind Ling's ear.
Sera had less composure. Disdain dripped from every pretty feature as she snarled in Ling's face. "How did you know we were of Xing?"
Spilled geng dripped from the pot onto the floor; Ling could feel it seeping into the back of his shirt. "I thought it was odd how two girls knew how to perfectly cook a Xingese dish, when they'd supposedly never been to the country before." He answered.
Thankfully his voice did not betray his anger, even as Ling cursed himself every shade to the sun. How could he have forgotten the risk to himself as heir? Of course assassins were after him! Of course they would have connections with an Ishvalan community so close to the border! "Not to mention you both managed to sneak up on me twice. You've been trained in the Dragon's Pulse. You know how to suppress your presences – I still can't get a read on your auras."
"A rookie mistake, then," Sera growled, pressing her arm deeper against his windpipe. "I won't make it again."
"But really," Ling rasped. "What first tipped me off was what you said about Mei." He smiled. "Nobody who's met that girl when she's sick would call her 'darling'."
Narrowing her eyes, Sera spat in his face. "Despicable. Truly, you have no honor. Not that I expected much from a cheap bodyguard like you."
Ling coughed in both pain and confusion. Bodyguard?
"Now now, Sera," Relena chastised, tracing the sharp point of her knife almost teasingly across Ling's neck. "That's a disgrace to guards everywhere. These two aren't even worthy of the name. Who leaves their sick mistress completely unattended, and in a strange village no less?"
His vision blurred, and Sera laughed. "Do you think brother has finished with the other guard yet?"
"Definitely," her sister replied. Ling could see her face twist with mock concern. "Poor Miss Lan Fan was tired from her journey, and all too trusting. I'm sure brother made quick work of her. But what do you expect from some cheap help hired by the mongrels of the Chang family?"
With a jolt completely unrelated to the pain of a blade slipping beneath the thin skin of his clavicle, Ling remembered with horror that he was not the only heir to the throne of Xing in Nasesh-Arem, and Mei had in fact been left absolutely alone.
"Long live the Shitong," Relena hissed viciously.
Her blade pressed swiftly down – a spray of blood bubbled out from Sera's mouth – and the room erupted in an explosion of noise and fire.
Elsewhere in the village, the Ishvalan doctors in the medical center dealt with another, not-unrelated, crisis. While Dr. Pirro's assistant had been training with the stern doctor for many years, and had been witness to more than his fair share of gruesome sights, the young boy had still fainted dead away when he'd entered the room holding Mei Chang - finding the walls speckled red and brown, and a lifeless body hanging limp over a futon.